


C is for Cigarette

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John and Sherlock bicker about the latter's smoking habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C is for Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> A quick fill for a request on the BBC Sherlock kink meme:
> 
> "At the beginning of the Baskerville episode, John says, "Cold turkey, we agreed. No matter what. Anyway, you paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you any."
> 
> Cigarettes, of course. 
> 
> I want to read the 'missing scene' where they actually agree on this. How does something like that come about?
> 
> Gen or John/Sherlock is great but preferably the agreement is nonsexual."

Panting, slick with sweat, John and Sherlock fell back against the pillows, revelling in the lazy afterglow of a fiery mid-day fuck. The room was silent but for their laboured breaths, thick with the reek of their passion, clothing laid akimbo on the already disastrous floor. Though man of his belongings had migrated to Sherlock’s bedroom (now _theirs_ ) in the wake of their newly budded romance, John had yet to make a dent in the mess of things that cluttered the consulting detective’s living space. This, regardless of his stellar organizational skills as weaned from his military career. It would be a miracle if they found their littered clothing among the books, sheet music, and various bits and bobs that laid waste to the floor in what Sherlock had described as ‘organized chaos’. John could see where chaos came into it, though he didn’t believe he would ever understand how his partner could justify the mess as being organized in any way. He only hoped that his cream cabled jumper wouldn’t be lost in the debris; it was his favourite out of all that he owned, and it would be a pity to one day discover it as he had his red pants – covered in some off sort of green goo and half disintegrated, underneath the wardrobe.

Leg slung over Sherlock’s naked hip, and his head resting on the detective’s shoulder, John had drifted into a light doze of sorts, thinking about jumpers and corroded pants, until he felt the other man shift and stretch out towards the right bedside table, in which the man stored his cigarettes.

“Don’t even think about it, Sherlock Holmes.” The movements had startled John awake. “I mean it.”

“Too late, it’s already been thought of. There’s no going back now, John.” Having pulled the drawer open, a hand delved in to rummage about it’s contents. “The habit is mine alone, John. You have no reason to concern yourself with it.”

“No reason to – I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that coming from you, and yet I am. Sherlock, what is this to you?”

“ ‘A monogamous sexual and romantic relationship’ is what I imagine you’re expecting to hear.”

“Besides the obvious, you git. Is this a game to you? Perhaps another one of your little social experiments? ‘Lets see how long we can string John along before he realises that none of this is genuine’?” Peeling himself away from Sherlock, John sat up with a frown. The darkened expression was minimized somewhat by the tufts of hair sticking up and away from his head. “Is this even a real relationship to you?”

The question appeared to give Sherlock pause for thought, his hand freezing where it was holding a cigarette to his lips. “Does it seem as such to you, John?” The slightest infliction in his voice gave evidence to hurt – the most emotion Sherlock tended to show in situations such as this.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I have never been anything but honest in my affections for you, John. I do not intend this to be any sort of game or experiment, and frankly I ought to be insulted that you would say so.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am not.”

The sweat on their bodies had grown cool and their skin sticky, so John pulled the blankets from the end of the bed up to cover them both. He sunk against the headboard, staring at the cigarette that hung, unlit, between the other man’s lips.

“Well?”

“ ‘Well’, what?”

“Are you going to light that? Seems a waste, now that you’ve got it out.”

“What would be the point, if you’re just going to continue nagging me about it?”

John scowled. “Firstly, I don’t _nag_. Old mother hens nag, and I am clearly not one of them. Secondly, I only pester you about it because I -”

“Worry for my health and in your professional opinion would give me five years tops before I risk developing lung cancer with the amount of smoking I do on a daily basis. I _know_ all of this, John, so why must you insist on repeating this dull information like a bloody useless parrot!”

“Right then.” Throwing the blankets off of himself, John set about searching over the side of the bed for his clothing. “If that’s all you think of me, well, you can just piss right off.”

“John -”

“No, Sherlock. You can’t just say something like that and not expect me to be offended. It’s just not on.”

“John.” A hand gripping his wrist made the doctor cease his searching. “Look at me, John. No, actually turn around and look at me. Please.”

He did.

Sherlock looked miserable, truly miserable with his lips tight around an unlit cigarette, eyes a fraction wider than strictly normal for him, and his hand clamped tightly around John’s wrist, half afraid that the other man would leave if he let go.

“As you know, I have...little experience with relationships of this nature. And thought it may not often be evident, I don’t want to make a mess of this. I cannot promise to be a changed man, in fact I refuse to be one, but if keeping you here with me means that I must quit smoking...I will do so.”

“No word of a lie?”

“More honest words have never been spoken. Although...” Sherlock’s gaze travelled down to the cigarette still in his mouth. John sighed, handing the man his lighter as he snuggled back into the bed beside him. “You might as well finish that one, since you have it out already. After that, though, it’s cold turkey for you.”

“I find myself experiencing a great deal of affection towards you right now, John.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, you great git. Now hurry up and finish your smoke so I can kiss you.”


End file.
